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Dear Opuntia, 188Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfPIqfjFK7d
Wow, ok. A lot has definitely happened since you saw me last, and according to you, it started the very same night you were at the football game! Well, good riddance, I’ve pretty much compiled all my thoughts and ideas in this letter to hopefully help you out.
To start, I’m sure we can unfortunately rule out our lacrosse team. I mean, I think it would be pretty much impossible for them to get the keys to that storage room you mentioned. And, even more than that, I’m sure none of the kids on the team would be smart enough to have read The Tempest…a lot of them are brickheads. But, just for good measure, I did interview a lot of the team when doing my story for their game against Arison just last week, and all of them seemed to have no problem with your school. I guess they could be pretending but…brickheads. Anyways, moving on to what I think is more important. Something I found interesting that I don’t think you’ve considered is the noises you said to have heard just before you heard the scream. In my opinion, what you described as hurried shuffling and rustling could be the culprit making their escape, or hiding any evidence. Maybe putting back the keys to the storage room, or wiping themselves off after getting oil on them? I would check what room is next to you if you don’t know it already since you didn’t mention it in your letter.
Moving on to this weird club that’s been forming because of these messages, I don’t really think it’s out of the ordinary. Trust me, I’m sure if it were at my school, some boys would do the same thing. They would do anything for attention and popularity. But I do agree with you that it’s likely that this mystery person you refer to as the “ender” isn’t acting alone, and I think I can give you more.
Since I work in the school newspaper, I know how long it takes to print those papers. Trust me, it takes a while. At least hours to have every copy printed, and even more to assemble it all. So it definitely couldn’t have been done that night, also because the printing press is super noisy! How did no one hear it, unless it was in an isolated part of the school? My last suggestion is to look into the teacher behind your newspaper. You know, like your teacher that runs the club. Because at NVHS, they’re the ones that actually pick up the paper the morning of and give it a run-through before they get handed out. So I’m sure a regular teacher wouldn’t allow it. I’m saying that there’s a high chance a staff member could be in on this, based on all of the info you’ve given me, ESPECIALLY if your room is next to a staffroom or office. I can’t really think of a possible motive a teacher would have for doing this, but I guess that can be determined later. Look into it, if you can, but first, ask your friend in the newspaper (Teddy? Ted?) who runs it. Welp, that’s all the conclusions I was able to make, hopefully, it was enough. And hopefully, nothing else happens at your school! I can’t imagine all the chaos at Arison, and I just hope you’re doing alright! Write back with any more info and I’ll be happy to give my thoughts. Sending you luck and love!
Your humble investigator,
Ida Jackson
P.s. Justine says hello!188Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzW1GNZiSQd
Opuntia read this letter over and over again, her eyes absorbing every piece of information her friend had delivered to her. She was slightly proud to see that Ida also agreed with her theory that the ender wasn’t acting alone, and this was already solidified in her mind with the evidence her other friends had given her the day after Halloween.
The boys were so far keeping their promise to each other to never tell her about that night in the woods, so she was naturally confused when they presented her with the slip of paper containing the message supposedly for Michael, from the culprit of it all.
“How did you—“ she asked, raising an eyebrow at it.
“I stole it from his jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking,” Wilfred explained quickly, technically telling the truth. She looked up at all of them, studying their faces. She then made eye contact with Cas, the only one also not in the loop, who shrugged indifferently.
“The Tempest quote checks out at least, and I’ve seen Deangelo’s handwriting. It’s not as nice as that.”
She and Cas had both seemed to mutually agree not to mention their “chat” the night before, but she still wondered if he was thinking about it, even now.
“It does look similar to the writing on the wall,” she replied eventually, screwing up her eyes and trying to remember that scene from more than a month ago at this point. “But I still don’t understand, what if Michael notices—“
“O.P., don’t worry about that,” she was cut off once again, this time by Teddy, who patted her on the shoulder reassuringly.
“C’mon, you can trust us, right?”
Of course she could trust her best friend, she thought logically. It was true that they had been with her through thick and thin this year, doing everything in their power to ease her mind, so she supposed she wasn’t being fair to them in asking too many questions. She looked at the note again, running her thumb over the spindly writing of the ender. It was poetry. The ender wrote poetry, too. She shuddered at the thought of it. Even though there were millions of poets in the world, seeing her own way of coping thrown back in her face was almost like an insult, a threat. But her friends didn’t know that, and they weren’t going to find out at that moment, either.
Although Teddy had told her not to worry, it was not entirely fair to say that they were out of harm’s way because of what happened with the coven of Caliban. Of course, they weren’t just going to let him and Sampson go scott-free, even with dozens of watchful eyes on them from the staff. While Sampson Laurier was once the most infamous figure in their year, and Teddy Dogerson was once the boy that could make anyone smile, they were soon no match for Michael’s ever-growing power. People feared him and his connection to the ender more than they liked them, and that soon became very evident even inside the school.
Luther Pollock or any other jacked-up kid could be found staring daggers at their group in the halls or at lunch, cracking their knuckles at them menacingly. Things that would usually require cooperation turned into a game of exclusion, as seen at Teddy’s tennis matches.
“Hey, what the hell! That was his hit, the ball was right in front of him!” Sampson cried in disbelief as Teddy’s partner swiped his racket inches from Teddy’s face. Opuntia crossed her arms in disgust, watching the game through narrowed eyes.
Some of the heat even trickled down to Wilfred for a bit, before all of the coven realized that they needed his help to pass most of their classes, and couldn’t afford to lose such an asset. And Eng, as Teddy put it, was just Eng. No shade was thrown his way, but no love either.
Opuntia continued to watch her friends be treated badly more and more for the next week, obviously not knowing the real reason why but could easily trace it back to the coven’s influence. She soon grew a sense of guilt over it all, constantly wondering again if things would be different if they weren’t around her. ‘Stop making everything about yourself!’ She thought contrastingly, trying to clear the shame she felt whenever she saw her friends being picked on. She was used to it herself, but they didn’t deserve it. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when Teddy wasn’t the other side of the coin: the one everyone loved vs the one everyone shunned. But now, here they were, sitting on the same side, and it all led back to the same person. Opuntia desperately plotted a way that she could topple his empire, his wobbly castle built up in a matter of weeks, but everything she planned would be either too risky or flat-out stupid, something that not even Sampson would be on board for. He was too high up, impossible to reach, an Icarus who just needed a sun to melt his glory, and then…
“Michael Deangelo to the headmaster’s office immediately,” a shrill voice announced over the PA system. Her French teacher, Dr. Burkart, tutted at the interruption of their lesson, just as Opuntia grew more awake than she had been the whole class. Had the fates really been on her side this time? Had the prayer Father Vito made them recite really worked after all? Her eyes grew wide at the thought of it, her French textbook being gripped more tightly by the second. But she knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up. For all she knew, Michael was about to receive a scholarship of excellence from their school.
When the bell rang, she nearly raced out of the room to look for her friends before their P.E. class, trying to catch a glimpse of their faces, a hint of anything they possibly knew. But she only saw the back of their heads as she looked down to the ground floor from the landing, leaving her with nothing but her racing thoughts and the library.
But her mind was far away from schoolwork. She stared blankly at her biology notes on protein functions and enzyme naming, reading the words as if she had never seen them before. Her heart was pounding as if she was out in the cold doing P.E. with the rest of her friends. Think. She grabbed her hair and pulled it, trying to focus in that moment and forget about everything else. But she could not. Think. She thought about her friends again, and all the kids like Roger who were suffering because of Michael. Think. She thought about how whatever was happening now could possibly be something to include in her next letter to Ida. Think.
And then she thought suddenly about Ida’s letter, and what she had suggested to her. The room next to hers, she had completely forgotten to tell her that it was Redwood’s office. The headmaster’s office. It wasn’t exactly what Ida had intended, but Opuntia still clambered out of her seat, taking off in a fast walk out of the library that she wanted to be a sprint. For once those dastardly thin walls would come in handy as Opuntia could sit and hear almost everything in the room as if she was there. She could once again tell her friends the news, but this time she would see their faces break into grins instead of grimaces, and maybe even let her spirits soar if they not only got rid of Michael, but he revealed who he was in contact with, the real villain.
She was once again a child listening to things she shouldn’t be. A ghost who was desperate to know things she shouldn’t know, she raced into her bedroom and immediately grew as still as a mouse.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” the first voice she heard was a woman’s, which left Opuntia taken aback as she had not seen another woman besides herself ever in Arison.
“Why would our Mikey do this? What proof do you have?” His mother. Opuntia whistled through her teeth, knowing that whatever he did was something big-time.
“We have all the proof we need, Mrs. Deangelo,” she now heard her father speaking in that cold calculating voice she often heard when he addressed her.
“I’m not believing a thing until I get absolute, concrete evidence, alright?” A gruff man’s voice rang out, surely “Mikey’s” father.
“YOUR SON DEMOLISHED—“ Redwood began to shout, banging his fists on a hard surface with rage, but Mordred cut him off.
“We not only have testimony from two other students, but we confiscated his dorm and found his clothes soaking wet after the incident. Do I need to continue?”
Now Opuntia was really confused. She initially thought this was potentially for his activity in the coven, but the words of her father and Redwood clearly implied that he had done something else, whatever could leave his clothes wet. She just wondered who were the finks that told Redwood.
“Please, I can show you just down the hall the damages your son has done, that will cost thousands of dollars to repair,” Mordred continued, still sounding calm, though Opuntia could picture the fury in his eyes of coal.
“Mikey, you haven’t said anything,” his mother said, ignoring Mordred’s words. “Say it isn’t true, beh, Michele, say it’s not true.”
“It is, Ma.” Michael spat, not even with a moment’s hesitation. Opuntia clapped a hand over her mouth at his admission, still trying to remain as quiet as possible.
“A CONFESSION FROM YOU, DEANGELO, YOU’RE OUT.” Redwood cried, a mix of anger and somewhat glee in his tone.
“Like I care, you old bat” Michael snarled again, causing his mother to gasp dramatically, along with Opuntia.
“Did I ever, ever in my days teach you to talk to your superiors like that, Michele Antonio?” Now his father was yelling, his thick, Calabrese accent growing stronger with every word. “You throw away your life we worked hard to give you, is that what you think is a laugh and a joke or something?”
“I never wanted to go to this stupid place!” Michael’s voice bounced back at his father’s, as his mother began to wail and Redwood was trying to tell them to be quiet. Opuntia, now finding herself in the middle of a kind of family soap opera not unlike what her mother used to watch, thought of returning back to the library, wondering if there was a chance of more being revealed about the ender. She also desperately wanted to know what Michael had done, and if it was in fact him, since she was sure him and the ender were working together, she didn’t think it was out of the question for him to take the blame. With the screaming and crying only growing louder, she took the chance, stepping out of the room and walking in the opposite direction down the hall, figuring she might still be able to hear them with how loud they were getting, anyways. But that was when she noticed just what Michael had gotten up to that day, because before she knew it she found herself almost ankle-deep in water, soaking through her frilly socks and leather black shoes. She looked to her left and saw the door to a boy’s dormitory. She looked to the right and saw the boy’s bathroom, where water was continuously spilling outwards from under the crack of the door.
She was almost in awe of just how much damage Michael had apparently done, and her curiosity overcame her once again as she opened the door, wanting to see the sick details. She had never been in the boy’s bathroom, thankfully, but it looked about what she expected, except for the cascade of water that greeted her. Her shoes and socks were now soaked and she had to hoist her pleated skirt slightly, as not to drench it too. Water was coming from everywhere. The sinks were clogged and had filled to the brim, each dripping a waterfall onto the floor. All of the faucets had now been shut off, but that didn’t stop the spew from one broken faucet-head, that was still running rampant, spraying in all directions. But Opuntia noticed that the head had not merely been broken off, but looked meticulously tampered with, in order to reach that perfect spatter motion. Shower drains had also been plugged up, but the real centrepiece of it all was the message that screamed at her as soon as she walked in the room. Displayed across the wide chipped mirrors, was a single word, this time written with a smudged, translucent substance she guessed was bar soap. Arison, it said. But the letter A had been Xed out, only to be replaced with a “P”, to spell prison.
Strangely, she didn’t feel scared at the scene. She didn’t have that gut-wrenching, tremble-in-your-hands, brain-fog-inducing feeling she had felt when seeing the past two messages. She just felt gross, realizing she was standing in bathroom water, and even underwhelmed. ‘This was it?’ she thought. So much damage had been done, but the act felt empty, devoid of intellect, like it could have been the aftermath of a tantrumming toddler as opposed to a mastermind hidden in the shadows. This was no ender, it was a boy. But why?
“What do you think you’re doing here?” A hushed and panicked voice suddenly called out from the doorway. She whipped her head around, thinking it was a teacher or even the janitor cleaning up the mess but was instead met with Roger Vorhees, nearly slipping on the tile as he rushed past her.
“What are you doing?” She shot back at him, trying to follow him to the showers where he was headed. Roger had his crucifix clutched in one hand and the other continuously clenching and unclenching a fist.
“Just--nothing, I’m looking for something.” He said, bending down and looking under the cracks of the bathroom stalls, getting his pants wet up to the knee. Opuntia winced with disgust.
“If you’re trying to incriminate Michael, he’s already going to get expelled. I could hear it from--”
“I’m not!” Roger cried, trying to push her away from where he was looking. “Just go away, or Lord Almighty, I will…”
“Call me a sinner?” Opuntia suggested. She couldn’t ever feel intimidated by Roger, always a small and erratic figure, but she was definitely perplexed to see him frantically searching for something in a flooded bathroom as if his life depended on it.
“Look, maybe if you tell me what you lost I can help,” Opuntia continued sympathetically, but before Roger could respond, the bell rang. She glanced up to the ceiling at the noise at the exact moment Roger had snatched something from behind the mirror and pocketed it.
“Hey, you--” Opuntia pointed at him, seeing this out of the corner of her eye. But Roger had pushed past once again and was making his way to the exit, his hand still twitching. Opuntia’s mind began to burn even more with questions. She was a cat that could not let her mouse get away, so she tried one last attempt to get Roger to spill his secret.
“You know, this looks really suspicious on your part, I could tell someone…” she called after him. But Roger just turned around and looked up at her, his golden crucifix gleamed across his chest.
“Who’s going to listen to you? No one ever does.”
It was now Opuntia that was left with clenched fists as Roger left the room. It stung for someone she had always considered a sort of friend to say this so brutally, but he was right. Not even her own father seemed to believe her. She knew that to almost everyone in this school, she didn’t belong here. She was a speck of dust on a shiny medal that always showed up at just the wrong times. Yes, she wondered why Michael was doing this, and why the ender was doing this, but why was she doing this? Was it really all for her own peace of mind? It was times like these when she wished she could melt and become the water on the floor.
But she didn’t have time for that, because soon after she heard shouting louder than ever, reaching its crescendo from down the hall. She quickly sloshed through the bathroom and creaked open the door to find a small crowd of people halted where Redwood’s office was, and where the water began. To avoid being caught in the middle of it, she took a detour by going the opposite way, past all the 6th-year dormitories, down the spiral staircase to the atrium, where the back of the line was. Boys were congregated in their small groups, the taller ones trying to describe what they saw to their friends in gossipy whispers. She could no longer hear the screaming but was thankful to see her friends leaning on the railing, also all in rapt discussion.
“I think he trashed all the rooms, I’m telling you, I could hear a first-year wailing about his room being ruined,” Sampson explained to Teddy, who raised his eyes skeptically.
“All of them? C’mon, they couldn’t have had enough time. I think they damaged another teacher’s things.” Teddy replied, propping his head up on the oak wood banister.
“You guys are both wrong,” Opuntia said behind them, making her friends all jump. “I was there, they flooded the boy's bathroom on the sixth floor.”
“Our bathroom?” Sampson said in disbelief and dismay.
“He flooded it entirely?” Wilfred said at the same time.
“How are you everywhere?” Cas asked, suspiciously.
“Yes, your bathroom. Yes, it was flooded entirely, and I don’t know, I hope that answered everything.” Opuntia answered, addressing each of her friends’ queries.
“It does make sense for it to be our bathroom since Michael is in the same year as us,” Wilfred pointed out, looking towards the top of the stairs for a sign of Michael or any other commotion. Meanwhile, Opuntia was instead looking for a sign of Roger, but he must have been lost in the crowd.
“If we’re forced to shower in the locker room I’m going to lose my mind,” Sampson groaned, clearly distraught at this act of violence. “This has got to be the stupidest act yet. How is this an act of rebellion if it’s mostly hurting us?”
“O.P, how good of a look were you able to get of the scene? Do you think it was the ender?” Teddy asked, turning to her.
“No…” she said slowly, but holding her tongue slightly. She knew it was unwise to go into everything she had seen and heard, from Michael’s conversation to Roger in the bathroom, since the whole school was present. But there seemed to be a bigger and bigger web of lies and secrets unravelling with every day, so much she could not even begin to wrap her head around, however, she did know one thing:
“But Michael is so dead.” She finished. As she spoke, she heard a hush fall over the entire atrium and stairway, as Redwood’s office door flew open, and three figures emerged, parting the long queue of unsure students. Two adults, one, a stout woman with a tight black bun and fleece cardigan, the other, a square-faced, tanned man with slicked back curls. Michael’s parents. And in front of them was the boy of the hour: Michael himself, nearly the spitting image of his father, except one was full of bursting rage, and the other still maintained a cool indifference.
“You know how long I spent working my ass of for this family? 24 YEARS I spent working cars so we can have a big house, a big backyard, your mother some nice clothes, and this is how you repay me, Michele?” His father roared as they slowly made their way down the stairs, still surrounded by onlookers. Opuntia winced at it, thinking there must be nothing as embarrassing as getting yelled at by your parents in front of others. But in a way, it was an equal exchange, at least between the two of them.
“But I didn’t want you to end up like me, did I? You think I sent you here just to end up a mechanic, huh? I wanted big things for you Mikey and now you put us in debt and make your mother cry.” He gestured to Michael’s mother, who was still wailing, eyes full of angry tears.
Michael still said nothing, in fact, he was almost walking like a king amongst his subjects. Opuntia could spot them in the crowd, his coven, signing off to him like a retiring captain, or whispering their best wishes. Yet Michael only paused once he reached the bottom, where the Caesar Six greeted him, huddled together with various looks on their faces. Michael was staring at them, but Opuntia couldn’t tell who his focus was upon, it could have been any of them. But taking the chance, Sampson gave him a winning smile and a little wave, his perfect send off to someone he had once considered a fun friend, but had evolved into a threat.
And finally, there was Roger, making his tiny self known to Michael as he appeared in the atrium. In contrast to Sampson, Roger had no smile at seeing the expulsion of his former best friend, he simply signed the cross in silence, a true summary of his nature. And then Michael was gone, out the door and into the foggy afternoon, the first to leave this place in solace since four years ago.
Just after Michael and his family were gone, more people stepped out of the office and faced the ocean of teenage boys. The vice principal, an ancient, decrepit man with hearing aids and shoes made before World War two, who Opuntia had barely heard speak since her first year. There was Redwood in the centre, looking at his pupils like they were maggots on rotting flesh, a look so sour it could burn right through her. Finally, there was her father, with his collar buttoned right up to his chin, and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Redwood cleared his throat to gather everyone’s attention, but all eyes were already on him.
“Students of Arison, I have been at this school for thirteen years. Thirteen years of shaping young minds into the leaders, geniuses and heroes of the future.” He was not speaking with anger, like she heard him in his office, but it seemed to come from a feeling of disappointment and pure contempt.
“Unforetuneately, some people like to disregard our core themes of honour, honesty and excellence at this school,” he continued, leading to eye rolls and scoffs from some brave students. “And it is clear I have myself to myself to blame.”
Opuntia was slightly shocked to hear this from Redwood. She thought maybe, for one hopeful moment, that Redwood had realized the horrible environment he had created, but that hope died just as quickly as it flickered to life.
“I have apparently been too nice to everyone here, too lenient, too forgiving.”
“Here comes the storm…” Teddy whispered under his breath to Opuntia.
“From this point until Thanksgiving, and indefinitely after that point, there will be no non-competitive extra cirriculars hosted after school. Students will return to their rooms immediately after classes and will remain there for the rest of the day.” Redwood droned on, listing even more security measures put into place. Whatever the coven had wanted was backfiring horribly. They were right, this place was now even more like a prison.
“Teachers and newly hired security guards will be assigned to watch over lunch tables at every meal. No one is to get out of their seat until the meal period is over. No one is to leave class until the period is over.” Opuntia was now watching her father, who was slowly nodding along to all of Redwood’s new demands. Did he know that he was leaving her practically nothing left? Stripping her away from her happiness and freedom, casting her back into a nightmare with no chance of escape? She wished she had told her friends everything she had seen, since she would no longer get a chance to. They were then promptly sent off to their rooms with not even a goodbye.
Why, why? Was the only thing Opuntia could think. Was this really the ender’s plan, to trick Michael into thinking this was for the greater good and an act of rebellion, only for the opposing side to just hit back ten times harder? At least he was gone now, expelled though he was, he was not forced to live day in and day out like a mouse in a cage. She was angry at Michael, she was angry at Redwood, and she was angry at herself for not understanding what on Earth was happening. But again, there was no time for these thoughts, because she now had a never-ending list of homework to do, with no chance of getting help from any of her friends. There was no chance to tell them what she saw. There was no chance for them to put their minds together for anything.
Leading up to thanksgiving, the Caesar Six spent their limited time together only discussing school work and other mundane things like sports and the weather, with Mr. Maguire assigned to watch over their table. Most conversations were only carried by Teddy, the only one to maintain optimistic in this situation. But that all changed when on one of the last days school before Thanksgiving break, Sampson was bounding up to them at lunch time, something clearly lifting his spirits.
“What happened to you?” Cas asked with an eyebrow raised as Sampson sat down across from him.
“Something I completely forgot about has been brought to my attention,” he said, speaking in a fake announcer voice to bring everyone’s focus to him.
“Sampson, be careful,” Opuntia reminded him in a low voice, gesturing to Mr. Maguire standing feet away.
“No, no, this is fine, I’m not gonna get in trouble for this, I promise,” Sampson assured her, and continued.
“Ok, so, every year I have to go to this dorky party held by the S.S.A.O, I forget what it stands for, anyways, it’s basically where a bunch of private school kids across the country do networking for the night to get connections or whatever,”
“We get it, you’re rich,” Cas interrupted him, but Sampson persisted.
“But this year my family offered to host, so we can invite whoever we want, and I…” he then held out his hands to everyone at the table, pointing at them each in turn. “Invite you cordially to this evening of magic, music and uhhh…boring stuff.” He finished somewhat lamely, but had definitely piqued everyone’s interest.
“You’re inviting us to a party at your house?” Opuntia asked, realizing she had never actually seen Sampson’s house before. He had many houses, growing up in Baltimore and spending holidays in the hamptons or Quebec, but one of these many houses happened to be in Worcester, which was just a 20 minute drive away.
“Yep,” Sampson replied, just beginning to eat his lunch. “It’ll be way more fun with you guys, and it gives us a chance to go over…other stuff.” He added, which a quick glance in Mr. Maguire’s direction.
“Sampson, I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed--” Teddy began, most likely thinking about his father, who would usually forbid him from going anywhere.
“What you guys have to tell your parents is that this is an amazing opportunity. I mean, getting connections for university is not something I really care about, but if you guys want your ivy leagues and scholarships, then this’ll help.” Sampson replied, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.
“I do want to make connections…” Cas said fairly. “Well, this might possibly be the first time I’m saying this but I’m on board for your plan,”
Sampson grinned widely at this. “Casey’s in, any other takers?”
“I’ll still be at the school, so if I can get my father to write me a sign-out note in time then I’ll show up,” said Wilfred.
“Me too,” Eng added. Opuntia and Teddy were the last to reply, both looking at each other knowingly. There was a reason they grew up together: their fathers were very close friends in Arison and even college, and therefore had pretty similar views.
“I’ll ask,” Teddy said, half-heartedly. “But I’ll really lean into the networking thing. He is set on me going to med school so I’m sure he’ll want me to get scholarships.”
Opuntia on the other hand, wasn’t sure what her father wanted from her, since he never felt to need to speak his mind around her. But she supposed she could try, and she knew her mother would say yes, at least.
“No promises, but I’ll try,” was her answer, which Sampson basically took as a yes. He clapped his hands together. “Cool, groovy, brilliant,” he said with a smile, not used to his ideas going forward without objection.
With a break from school on the horizon and the possibility of a party with her closest friends, Opuntia was slightly happier going to bed that night. If by some miracle she was allowed to attend, she would have the perfect opportunity to talk to her friends for the first time in a week without the presence of strict staff around the corner, and discuss all the things she had been holding back. Besides, she thought fairly, sitting down at her writing desk after brushing her teeth before bed, she still always had one person to talk to without caution, even if they were far away.
188Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtOjVYMXAVG
Dear Ida,
Breaking news: Disaster has striken again at Arison. I know it sounds like we can never catch a break, but things are beginning to spiral into insanity. Michael Deangelo? The boy I told you about? He’s been expelled from school, but not before staging another act, by basically flooding the communal bathroom on my floor. I suppose it was his grand act of rebellion, but he’s only gone and screwed over the rest of the school since the enforcements have gotten even stricter. I’ll be honest, I feel really trapped here, but as I’m writing this the break is tomorrow, so I’ll at least be home, though that isn’t much better unforetuneatley.
But I’m not going to get into that, I need to tell you more about what my friends and I have uncovered, well, before we were banned from leaving our rooms. Thanks so much for your suggestion about the room next to me. That’s my principal’s office. And yes, I think I heard the door open before I left to see the scene, but Redwood (my principal) got there after me. So, it might’ve been him in there? But I’m not sure. The vice principal and my father are in there quite a bit as well, so it’s anyone’s best guess. And as for the teacher running the newspaper, Teddy confirmed it was Mr. Martin, the English teacher who had his books destroyed. So, I’m not quite sure what that could mean. I suppose he could be behind it, it would make sense since he knows that book probably by heart and would be able to quote it all the time, and I was shown another piece of evidence by my friends that was a note from the ender to Michael, which had poetry written in it. But I don’t see why Mr. Martin would do this. Maybe the insurance money? But he’s ancient, and his acting must be pretty impressive to seem that upset at the scene.
Going back to what happened, I know for sure now because of the note that Michael and the ender were working together, but I don’t think the ender had anything to do with the bathroom. Michael was found immediately, and the ender has remained elusive this whole time. He has been profiting off the rebellion the ender had created in school, you should’ve seen him, he loved the attention. Do you remember my friend Sampson? He was like that, times 10. He even didn’t seem that upset when he was expelled, like he knew this was coming and didn’t care. I’m not sure where he’s headed now but I doubt any other private school would accept him. There was one strange thing, though, because when I went to see the scene of the crime, another boy who used to be friends with Michael busted in and began searching for something. He’s very religious and against rule-breaking, so I don’t know what he was looking for but I know he found it. But I can’t see him helping Michael because he was the most outspoken figure against him.
I really wish I could see you over the break, but I’m already taking a risk once by asking to go to this party Sampson is hosting. It’s with a bunch of other kids from different private schools, so I doubt it will be anything exciting, but anything to be free from Arison. I know I’ve once again given you a boatload of information, but since I can’t talk to my friends, you’re my only hope. Anything you can give me, I’ll gladly take. I can’t thank you enough for doing all of this.
Your humble informant,
--O.M.A
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